The Deaths of the Heart
by Ashton Lithe
Summary: Nothing is right in the world any more. The dead are rising, good people are dying, and moral lines become blurred and skewed. Taking refuge in a prison was one of the best things to happen so far, but will it last? What secrets do the walls hold, not only about the building, but of the group itself?
1. Reader Discretion

The following chapters hold content that may disturb some viewers. Reader discretion is advised.


	2. Chapter 1-1

**Chapter 1.1**

Daryl had claimed the landing of the stairs. The rest of the group dispersed, exploring the cleared out cells while Rick watched from against the wall. Maggie gave an almost apologetic smile to me as she moved off with Glenn. I had expected them to pair off though – Hershel didn't like it, but he was coming to terms with it. I was stuck as the outcast. Again.

Sighing, I climbed the steps to where Daryl had laid out a bed. He gave me a funny look, a cross between a glare and pout. Keeping quiet, I turned and sat down, facing down the stairs.

"Safety in numbers." I muttered, shifting my rifle across my lap. A hunting knife hung from my hip, along with the pistol I had been shooting since I was 15. Some scoffed at the P22 I wore, but it had saved my pale ass many a time. I heard Daryl bite out a scathing reply of a few choice words, but paid him no mind. Out of everybody, I felt the least judged by him.

I vaguely remember leaning my cheek against the rusty metal of the rail, and then I remember waking up to something being draped around my shoulders. Blinking bleariness out of my eyes, I shifted, watching Daryl trudge back over to the mattress he had tugged up the stairs. The thick smell of musk filled my nose, and I realized what he had done. Gripping the makeshift poncho around my shoulders, I turned to look at him head on. His back was to me. A quick glance showed that everybody else was asleep, or at least quiet. A tense frown pulled at my lips. Running a hand through my shaggy buzz cut, I tried not to let the musk get to me.

"Daryl," I murmured, hand light on his shoulder. He was awake, but I was trying to be courteous. Knowing that he was as stubborn as a pig, I draped the coarse fabric over his torso.

"Keep the fucking thing." A rough hand shoved it off of himself, pushing it back towards me. "I ain't fucking cold."

"Well you aren't fucking either, now are you?" The snark left my mouth before I could realize what I had said. Rolling on to his back, quick eyes locked with mine.

"What was that, fairy boy?" My jaw locked. "I tried to be fucking kind to you. Your skinny malnourished ass passed out, and all I try to do is help you not die from catching a cold in your sleep. You keep that goddamn poncho before I have Laurie sew it to your fucking back." He rolled back over, growling to himself, as his words washed over me. I stood slowly.

"Then move over."

"I told you, I ain't-"

"I said move over, Daryl." My voice was tired. There was only a shred of light coming in through the large frosted windows now – night was falling hard and fast. "The cells are all locked up, and I don't want to wake the others." I only got a few inches out of him, but it would work. I settled down. Our backs touched, just barely, and my hand hung out across the decayed looking floor. I tried to stay as still as possible as I fixed the poncho over us like a blanket, only shifting a little bit to settle back down. My eyes drooped shut slowly. The next few minutes were a blur of sleep, but I could have sworn I felt a body press up against my back, a nose bury in my hair, and an arm drape across my waist.

In the morning, I woke up alone, poncho settled over me like someone had arranged it while I was still asleep. Rubbing sleep out of my eyes, I spied Carol, Laurie, and Carl on the first floor. Beth was there too, minding her own and quietly listening.

"It's nice to see you up, CJ." Beth murmured as I sat next to her. I smiled sleepily, shrugging.

"I'm just happy I got to sleep on a decent bed, for longer than we have been sleeping." The two adult women nodded.

"The others headed out to see if they could find supplies." Carol stated. Apparently she saw the look of hurt that crossed my face. "Rick said not to wake you up. You needed the most sleep out of all of us, next to Laurie." Shrugging, I drew my knees up to my chest. It hurt, not being picked to go on hunts. But Rick said he knew best, and that his word wouldn't be argued.

At some point, Laurie and Carol went back to a cell, probably to lie down and rest some more. Carl sat across from me and Beth. Time passed. I listened to their mild conversations – Carl asking about God and Beth doing her best not to get offended and to explain it the best she could. But then Carl turned to me.

"Dad said you were gay." It wasn't a question. Beth blushed, ducking her face away. I narrowed my eyes at the boy.

"I'm bi. But I don't think that really matters right now, Carl."

"Is that why you didn't pick a cell?"

"No. I-" A sigh worked it's way in my words. "I didn't pick a cell because I wanted to get off my feet for a few minutes and get a good view of what the lay out was. I ended up falling asleep up there."

"You were sleeping next to Daryl. Like Mom and Dad used to do. Except not naked." It clicked then. Daryl had curled up around me last night, but left before I woke up. A thrill shot through my spine at the concept. I shot a look to Beth, hoping she would try to help me. "Are you two, y'know. Doing it?"

"Carl!" Beth hissed, eyes wide and face flushed. "You can't just ask people that!" Rolling my eyes, I shifted, motioning to myself.

"Look at me, Carl. You really think anybody wants to fuck me while we all smell like this?" Beth's flush deepened at my vulgar wording. That, however, seemed to be a decent enough answer for Carl.

"Is Daryl gay?" And that was why I didn't like dealing with kids. They didn't know when to stop asking questions.

"I don't know." _It would be nice if he was though, _I thought. Carl's lips came together, like he was thinking really hard about something.

"Hershel doesn't really like you."

"Don't talk about my Daddy like that." Beth looked cross. "My Daddy respects every single member of this group."

Carl paid no attention to her. "Does he not like you because you like men?" Beth stood up then – this was the most worked up that anybody had actually seen her.

"Carl Grimes, you are going to drop this conversation right now!" We both stared at her. Her hands shot back down to her sides as she let out a small huff. The young boy muttered something, trudging off to find his mom. She sat back down, smoothing the front of her permanently stained shirt.

"I-I'm sorry." Her voice was back to it's normal quiet state.

"Didn't know you had it in you." I paused, watching her for a moment, before adding, "Thanks. I probably wouldn't have said anything to him." She shrugged.

"Daddy taught me to believe in God, but he also taught me to treat people right, no matter what. And asking about…that…isn't really right. Not to the extent that Carl was going into." Dirty fingernails tugged at a snare in her hair, eyes skittering everywhere except for at me. I shrugged.

"I'm used to it. People used to call me a freak all over the place." Unconsciously, my hand rose to my face, fingers beginning to play with the double eyebrow piercing in my right brow. The barbell in my tongue was a comfortable weight.

A silence fell over us in a thick blanket. Ambient noises filtered in – creaking of wind and the moans of the dead that were still wandering outside to the occasional chatter of what was probably rats. It wasn't long before my mind was wandering, replaying the conversation and questions that Carl had asked. Memories flooded back in from when things used to be normal.

_"Fucking fag." Spit splattered against my bloody and swollen face. My vision was already clouding as one eye swelled shut. The iron tang of blood filled my mouth from my split lip. My assaulters shuffled off, exchanging insults and arm punches. I was 16, just a few weeks after my birthday. I had come out of the closet when I was 15, and when I hadn't withdrawn that statement by the time I was 15 and a half, the beatings had begun. I often stumbled home with new bruises or tears in my eyes. People said it wasn't manly for an almost adult to let words get to him – but the words stung worse than the punches._

_ It was a month later, and I was staring at the scars on my left fore arm. They would later be covered with two lines of a favorite song of mine. They varied in directions and depth, some from cutting deep into my arm and others from scratching. Later they would fade into almost nothing; for now, at that time, they were still bright and angry and shiny and fresh. _

_ Months passed. Life settled down for me. Sexual deviations occurred, more insults, more harassment, and several birthdays passed. I was 18 when I got my many piercings done, 18 and a half when I got my tattoo. And then I was 20 when the zombie breakout occurred. Wandering on my own, jumping from ragtag group to motley crew until I found Hershel, who took me under his roof. And everything was fine._

_ Until Daryl and the rest came along._

That was when my thoughts began to linger back on human interactions – the redneck took up most of my free thinking time, which was unusual. My dreams had gone south again and rather quickly at that. I found myself wondering what those thick arms would feel like around me, how his body was so different than mine.

What rocked me out of my trance of thoughts about the night before was an uncomfortable feeling in my pants. Swallowing hard, I stood, hoping that I didn't startle Beth. "Gotta go relieve myself. W-why don't you find Carol and Laurie? So y-you don't get lonely?" I didn't bother to wait for an answer as I trotted awkwardly off. There wasn't much privacy in Cell Block C, but all I needed was a small enough alcove to fit into and a little wiggle room for my arm.

I found that space in the outlook, next to where Daryl had camped out the previous day. The body that had been in there had been tossed out with the rest of them, leaving it rather roomy. Hunkering down on the floor, I fumbled with my belt. A shuddering sigh left my lips when my finger tips brushed the base. I tugged out my aching member – it wouldn't take much to get me off, not right now. Funny how running for your life every day does that to a guy.

A low groan pulled itself from my throat as I came, hips bucking up into my hand. All of the knots in my muscles seemed to relax as I slumped onto the dirty floor.


End file.
